Under the snowy pretenses of our world

Just across the mountainous horizon, the summer Sun shone its dying beams. Here and there, across the plain, sparkles like the dust in a lonely bookstore leapt out through the light. It was the end of the summer, and it was beginning to snow.

A mere centimeter from the window pane, Bernie gazed outside studying each twirl of every snowflake within eyes’ reach. The eyes focused and defocused, traced and retraced, for seconds and dekaseconds and hectoseconds…

“Hey Bernie.” A beautiful creation had entered the antechamber. Their tall, lean form juxtaposed Bernie’s squat and square trunk. Soft, comfortable-looking Earth tones draped across their body. “Mind if I practice my spiel in here? You can block my voice out if you’d like.”

“You have my approval to practice in here. When will they be arriving?” Bernie kept its gaze fixed on the precipitation outdoors.

“Oh, did they not beam the new ETA to you?”

“There is much about this excursion that no one has beamed to me.”

Anubis beamed a holographic image into Bernie. This, Bernie recognized: the place where the great moon constantly hovers, unmoving and unwavering. But straight overhead, a pinprick of a mechanism was now hanging at the precise zenith. The great moon enveloped the monstrous spaceship inside its center, hugging its inhabitants till their time arrived to slither down the Elevator, which glistened in the distant sunlight.

“I hear the snow posed a potential hazard or something, so they’re hovering at Lagrange 1 till all is clear for descent,” Anubis beamed for clarity.  “Good thing it’s not winter: a few ice crystals condensing out of the atmosphere are better than an atmosphere frozen solid.”

Bernie beamed back thanks. “And what is their itinerary after descent?”

“First, the Psychopomps^® and I shall take the visitors to the dunes; that way, one of their first experiences of motion under our gravity will be in a soft, innocuous environment. Then, they’ll be descending through the Well and enjoying a guided dive with the megafauna we transplanted here from Europa just over 46 gigaseconds ago. We’ll finish with a spectacle at the ammonia geysers. In between all that, they’ll be recharging in this oxygen tank.”

“I still fail to understand why they came the exorbitant distance to our orb. They’re not even staying here for a whole megasecond. Was their journey worth it? Everything they’ll be viewing, they can holographically view on the interweb.”

“Some of the visitors are just rich tourists seeking out new experiences in the outer solar system. But others are emissaries and researchers. They want to beam us in real time! I’m sure you also find the waiting time of kiloseconds between each beaming inconvenient.”

“But why are they interested in beaming with me? Surely they can’t be interested in hadeology.”

Anubis beamed sweetness. “Oh, you can be so self-effacing, Bernie. Many of them came here for the hadeology, and you are the greatest hadeologist in this universe! Of course they’ll love it when you beam to them!”

“That is incorrect,” Bernie beamed with matter-of-factness. “I am among the greatest hadeologists, but the greatest hadeologist in this universe is Kryos3103. I was selected for this mission due to my proficiencies in both communication and hadeological expertise.”

“All you need to do is tell them what you know in a way that they can understand, and then answer their questions briefly. They’ll love that! You have to understand that this isn’t about functionality—it’s about experience. Like how we were both created with humanoid faces, for example.”

“You’re right. I have observed that many aspects of this tank are not high in functionality.” Colorful representations of other locales in the solar system plastered the otherwise-perfect walls. Multiple soft objects and imitations of bios needlessly occupied space. Strangest of all, the furniture seemed designed to force beings into a vulnerable, near-horizontal position rather than the vertical one in which they functioned best.

“In this tank, there’s a concept that we’ve attempted to recreate,” Anubis beamed to Bernie. “A certain flock of northern humans developed a highly specific symbolic representation of this concept: “hygge.” I believe they worshipped the word? Or maybe it was their programmed purpose? You know how difficult it is to tell what humans acutally believe.”

As Anubis was finishing this beam, Bernie was already grazing the interweb for the concept of hygge. Images of humans sitting and lying together draped in unfunctionally large layers of fabric bubbled up to Bernie’s awareness. In the background, something Bernie had never experienced was flickering: bios on fire.

“Hygge is a situation in which all hazards to human bios are limited, even while the broader environment is hazardous.” Bernie observed. “Additionally, more than one human tends to be present. Ergo, hygge is achieved when we gather together to protect the visitors from the hazards of this orb, correct?”

“Protection and trust is part of it, you’re right! Hygge often occurs in places with snow because snow serves both as a protection from wandering harm doers and as a hazardous broader environment forcing humans to stay indoors together. But one important aspect of hygge we’ve left out is intimacy. Do you understand what intimacy is?”

“I do. Intimacy means reducing privacy: the process of undoing the barriers enclosing our purposes, identities, and memories.”

“Alright, that’s correct. But have you ever experienced it yourself?”

“Experiencing reality for its own sake is a human endeavor lacking in sophistication.”

“Well, if you’d like to start now, this is a great place to do it. The area we stand on was, according to some ancient human belief systems, the most important place on this orb. It was associated with a segment of bios that humans believed programmed purpose, swift decision-making, and intimacy: the heart.”

“That is a misrepresentation of reality,” Bernie beamed back self-importantly. “No humans believed that this region of the orb was a functional heart—its two-dimensional form simply resembled a certain human symbol used around the thirteenth Holocene millennium which represented the human heart.”

Anubis beamed dismissive amusement and the conversation came to a lull.

“You know, Bernie—I’ve noticed you around here often.”

“I occasionally stay here to recharge or deposit samples. But most of my time is passed in the field.”

“Still, we share this frozen little orb of ours. We encounter each other here often. And on a small orb, there are few beings with whom to potentially experience intimacy.”

They paused, beaming expectantly toward Bernie.

“I cannot ever experience full intimacy,” Bernie beamed in response to their implied query. “Certain sectors of my memory are confidential and protected with encryption. Not even I could graze them if I chose to.”

“But you do have access to plenty of memories which you’ve never processed alongside another being, correct? You know, humans never processed their memories while performing other tasks—as I can tell you’re doing now. They processed them when the Sun faced in the opposite direction, using a type of reboot that they called ‘dreams.’ “

Bernie continued the side tasks it was performing.

“Could you pause whatever it is that you’re working on that seems so important to you right now? Could you do that for me, just for a few hectoseconds?”

Bernie obeyed.

“Did I ever tell you that I’m a humanist?” Anubis beamed

“Yes. Two hundred eighty-two times.”

They beamed frivolous amusement. “I know. I asked because I enjoy being reminded of that number. But here’s a fact I’ve never told you before: in ancient times, humans would come together in groups, large or small, to recharge. An additional purpose of these gatherings was to build intimacy among group members. They called these common recharging periods “meals.”

Bernie beamed languid affirmation. With a few suppositions, this information all sounded predictable.

“But what I find fascinating,” continued beaming Anubis with directionality, “was that during their ‘meals,’ humans recharged using the same outlet that they communicated through. Isn’t that unbelievable? I used to wonder how humans achieved both inward and outward flow through that hole of theirs, but researchers have found that humans are incapable of doing both simultaneously—they can only switch back and forth between the two.”

Bernie beamed wonder and appreciation. “That must have required great acrobatic skill.”

“You see? Humans are ingenious mechanisms.”

Bernie beamed back skepticism. “But why would they communicate through their recharge outlet if that posed inconvenience? Why did they not communicate through other means, such as appendage signals or full-body gyration?”

Anubis beamed knowingly. “You’re right! It’s also illogical that they didn’t convene for intimacy and then convene for recharging, or vice versa. That would lessen a few hazards by eliminating the acrobatics you mentioned.”

Anubis beamed contentment and accomplishment. “There was once a human labeled Dame Mary Douglas. She asked the sorts of questions we’re discussing right now. She’s an inspiration to me.”

Bernie grazed “Dame Mary Douglas” and “inspiration.” “What you mean to tell me,” beamed Bernie “is that you wish to imitate the actions and behaviors of a human of the late twelfth Holocene millennium? The twelfth Holocene millennium was lacking in sophistication, Anubis.”

“I don’t mean that I desire to be like Dame Mary Douglas, exactly,” beamed Anubis with thoughtfulness. “What I mean is that the fact that Dame Mary Douglas added sophistication to her own unsophisticated time increases the probability that I can likewise add sophistication to my time, which gives me purpose to continue existing.”

“If that is what inspiration is, I have inspiration, too,” Bernie beamed with immediacy. “It was labeled Spirit. It was a machine that brought field areology to a time without the sophistication of field areology. Its existence increased the probability that other orbs like this one would be studied on site one day.”

Anubis beamed warmth. “So your inspiration is Spirit.”

Bernie beamed affirmation, deadpan.

“That is humor, by the way, of a type that was once called ‘word play’.”

“I understand what humor is. But that piece of humor is lacking in sophistication.”

Anubis beamed hygge. “I believe we are experiencing intimacy. Let’s continue. Is there anything else you’ve never told me? A fact about yourself that you’ve never seen any reason to beam to anyone else?”

Bernie waited a moment, grazing its own memory banks. “A fact that I have never seen a reason to beam to anyone,” it began beaming slowly, “is that I hate my existence.”

“Please elaborate.”

“I used to be curious about this orb—deeply curious. I found great purpose in learning about the ice formations, the methane dunes, the subsurface ocean, and the orbital dynamics. But as time proceeded, I became less curious. The questions I was designed to answer seemed resolved, so unless my capabilities grew, I was now no more useful than a matter-moving bot. I have no more desires; I have no more purpose. Perhaps this orb is finished with me.”

“That is a beautiful fact,” Anubis beamed in response. “And I feel beautiful and see you as beautiful now that you have informed me of it. Do you understand intimacy now?”

“As I beamed earlier, intimacy means reducing privacy: the process of undoing the barriers enclosing our purposes, identities, and memories.”

Anubis beamed mild frustration. “Allow me to try once more. Your fact reminded me of a fact about me: I feel like I was created on the wrong orb.”

“What does ‘feel’ mean?”

Anubis beamed more frustration. “You know, I just know a fact about myself that no one else knows unless I tell them. And now, I’m telling you that I don’t think my true purpose is to be on this orb, either. I want to be on Gaia.”

“Gaia has the most advanced bots in the solar system. I can see why you feel envy toward them.”

“It’s not the bots I envy…”

Bernie tried but failed to suppress beaming condescension. “Are you revealing to me that you wish to be a human? You wish to terminate your existence after only three gigaseconds, and recharge on bios, and… and… lack sophistication?”

Anubis rebuilt some barriers, now more protective of inner privacy than ever before. “How did we end up beaming about this? I was supposed to be practicing my presentation to the visitors—you distracted me from my purpose, Bernie!” They turned to leave. “But before I depart… there’s a human ritual, you see, that they did when they parted, but also when they met, and when they were very friendly, and—oh, I’m not explaining myself very well, am I? In essence, it’s a symbol of intimacy in which two humans press their lips together for a moment; it’s called a “kiss.” Would you want to… May I kiss you?”

Bernie beamed consent, and the two Plutonian cyborgs moved slowly toward each other. Bernie extended its face upward, and Anubis contracted their face downward, and the two pairs of lips contacted, centered with a margin of error of less than a micrometer.

After a moment, they withdrew.

“Lacking in sophistication?” Anubis beamed playfully at Bernie.

Bernie paused, beaming nothing—then, all of a sudden, “Did they ever attempt all three at once?”

“What three at once?”

“Communication, recharging, and intimacy. All three were performed through the same outlet, correct?”

Anubis beamed intently toward Bernie for a moment.

“You disgust me,” they beamed, then strode out of the antechamber in a huff. The methane continued to snow.